


make a mess of the milk blue sky

by rensshi



Category: WayV (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Time, Internalized Homophobia, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-05
Updated: 2020-03-05
Packaged: 2021-02-28 03:48:50
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,543
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22937389
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/rensshi/pseuds/rensshi
Summary: Give it a minute, and let yourself give in to the empty space within your ribs, the one that stays present no matter how happy you think yourself to be.
Relationships: Wong Kun Hang | Hendery/Wong Yuk Hei | Lucas
Comments: 16
Kudos: 82





	make a mess of the milk blue sky

**Author's Note:**

> \- set in hong kong, hence the choice of names used here. 
> 
> \- this started out as word vomit, still sounds like word vomit... soz. trying to be braver by posting work that clearly isn't my best with no planned structure or whatever, and focused more on emotion put into it. my brain really needed to reset and just let this mess be what it is!

When Wong Yukhei turned one, his mother snapped a picture of him wearing new clothes for the Chinese New Year and millennium. There'd been a single candle on a smoothly iced cake, its flame licking at the darkness before the lights were turned on. In a second, they zapped out again thanks to a thunderstorm.  _ In January? _ His father had said in the low-quality video tape, shaking his head but his smile stayed when his mother blew out the candle with Yukhei.

On his twenty-first birthday, Yukhei reads a to-do list with smeared blue ballpen ink on wrinkled paper. It’s almost chicken scratch characters. The English words scattered across that he’d written while he was still sobering up the night before becomes legible after he remembers:  _ 1) fruit market, 2) go to PetMax for goldfish, 3) don't get Hendery drunk or else- _ that's where it stops making sense and he can't quite recall what it means, as ominous as it sounds. Memory isn't reliable either; General Psych in his uni classes and a big argument he’d had with his little brother over a prank in primary school that resulted in a fear of spiders and frogs, taught him that much. 

Yukhei dredges up all his preconceived concepts in the universe and turns them into a list: fingers leaving prints on aquarium glass, or hovering over plastic bags housing their own goldfish in pet stores like a fixation, knees and ankles scraping against concrete edges of swimming pools and soothed by chlorine. The sticky summer humidity prickling his neck like self-consciousness when he looks too long at the smile three rows in front of him in a lecture (this smile, Yukhei presses to his own skin, feels the indent of its teeth on his mouth, nipping his fingers and base of his throat). The pull of heat cycling through the air until finally, the sky exhales in relief and spills rain over the bright lights, throws the streets into a neon palette. How  _ daan taat _ baked perfectly with the right amount of crisp and egg custard are reserved for happy moments. How alcohol is for people either in love, or all rotten out of it.

On the eve of his twenty-first birthday, there is alcohol that goes the wrong way up again, and not from him.

“Audacity,” is what Hendery hisses at Yukhei, after he's reappeared from the bathroom cubicle. Outside the bar, his face is blue and purple in the murky haze of the blinking lights above them. The lights look like they’re laughing along with Yukhei, the same blinking rhythm. 

“Alright, that’s enough,” Yukhei says, steering him gently by the sleeve of his hoodie, and Hendery gurgles a defeated noise. The plan now is to just get home, the both of them.

Yukhei doesn’t reach the dormitory. Instead, he and Hendery improvise; they’re good at it. His mom happens to call, cranky past her bedtime, and wishes him and Hendery a goodnight on the phone. He writes his to-do list in Hendery’s silent room. He wakes up the next morning, mouth paper-dry and disgusting in the name of Tsingtao beer, and finds the paper tucked under Hendery’s old Doraemon coin bank, safe and sound. Promises to yourself like this are allowed to be kept accountable by someone else.

Give it a minute to let the song humming in your veins sit, place a kiss on the smile that pressed itself against yours the night before. Give it a minute, and let yourself give into the empty space within your ribs, the one that stays present no matter how happy you think yourself to be.

  
  
  


“God, you’re terrible,” Yukhei tells him, snickering. "You should stop me." They hold in the volume of their laughter, like carbonated fizz gathering underneath them and it magnifies, loud all the same while the high-rise buildings sleep.

“I happen to like Hebe Tien,” Hendery reasons.

“That, but I’m starting to think you like me singing,” Yukhei says, shrugging and leaning back on the bed, flat pillows cushioning their backs. He sings songs that aren’t in his range with amazing lack of pitch because Hendery, who is finding out himself that he does have a huge thing for romance, just lets Yukhei do it _.  _ He's got no response to Yukhei jokingly calling him terrible for that. The electric fan ruffles papers wedged in between folders on the desk. They’ve been strewn all over the room before, half a term’s worth of grades spread out. They pull a blanket over the stillness of 5 AM, punctured by the hum of the pipes and water bubbling in the fish tank, fabric fluttering on the grilled windows and clotheslines outside like decorative and territorial flags when the sun comes up.

Yukhei’s preconceived notion of attraction equates to something a little like this: wanting new homes to sink into the ground you’ve drawn circles into, after you’ve run uphill and back down again to kiss the Earth. 

In Yukhei’s head, attraction isn’t supposed to equate to nausea: Sicheng asked him if he wanted a number from this super cool chick in their Anthro class, and he blanked out, body on autopilot as he shoved his books in his backpack. Meiqi gave him a once-over, hint of a smile there on her face before she’d turned away. Yukhei doesn’t remember if he had smiled back. There had been absolutely no nausea.  _ Sorry, I’m not interested,  _ Yukhei finally answered, in a perfectly apologetic tone. Sicheng just shrugged.

Somewhere, in the middle of one summer in the monsoon season, Yukhei understood the fear a little better. 

“Have you ever kissed someone and didn’t mean it?” He asked then. Hendery’s eyes were round, off-putting in a way that used to make Yukhei laugh at him before he decided it was one of his endless favourite parts about him. They sat by the steps of the fire escape in Hendery’s dorm building. The shouts of kids in the neighbourhood seemed to echo off the water-stained buildings that are spaced out in a C shape around the old basketball court.

“I don’t think so,” Hendery replied. His gaze softened. Yukhei couldn’t seem to place what sort of person Hendery is without wanting to pull back. That’s probably what kept him fixated for so long. 

Even now when he can stare at the bright slants of skin exposed under yellow parallelograms that spill over Hendery, past his discarded T-shirt on the floor of Yukhei’s room. Sometimes it feels like the air is pocketed into something they both try to hold so they can feel what’s real. Sometimes you want something so bad, there’s a silent explosion and the bright, sweet splinters remain in the dusty corners and spaces under furniture like evidence.

“I think I handled the lip synching better,” Hendery says. 

“That’s a roundabout way of telling me to stop,” Yukhei replies, tapping Hendery’s forehead.

Hendery’s arms around Yukhei’s waist don’t budge. “Wasn’t telling you to.” 

  
  
  


The difference between them is that Hendery can write. Sort of. He's in Media Studies even though he's now convinced his interest for fictional literature hardly counts for anything school-related. Unfortunately, he still runs his mouth poetic in both Cantonese and Mandarin just to see Yukhei’s face twitch in embarrassment and something else that makes his cheeks burn. It's awful. Yukhei doesn’t know how to shut him up in any way that doesn’t involve looking at Hendery’s mouth and that’s just as bad _. _

A year later, Hendery’s still the same boy with a lot of weirder think pieces and verbal off-tangents that Yukhei’s mind drifts back to a few days later, when they finally make sense. The same boy Yukhei braved himself to kiss on the forehead, to the smooth slope of his nose, cheek and mouth; like piecemeals to being swallowed whole by the attraction instead of the nauseous fear. 

They familiarise themselves through talking with their hands tearing, finding new places to fit them. Yukhei wipes the tears on Hendery’s cheek away with his thumb, tastes saline when he kisses Hendery’s face, both of them flushed a violent red. 

“You can keep going,” Hendery whispers, breath shaky and arms firm around Yukhei’s neck. Any past notions of hunger that Yukhei has fall short, looking down at Hendery and his face tinted a warm yellow, the sweat down his hairline and neck. Hendery’s teeth catch on Yukhei's lips, there's a sharp intake of breath and then Hendery's mouth is pressed closed, a tense line.

“Sorry, I'm sorry I'm sorry," Yukhei whispers quickly. "We can stop.”

“Don’t make me stop,” Hendery tells him, opens his eyes and means it. The words come out this way because Yukhei is stubborn when it comes to what he thinks Hendery wants. 

Yukhei takes it as permission to move against his hips when the pain eases up and Hendery relaxes around him. There’s nothing but the pounding of his own heart in his ears, Hendery’s legs wrapped around his waist and heel digging into the back of Yukhei’s thigh to keep him there. Their bodies manage to fit, awkward slow limbs in the stuffy humidity. But it feels right.

Give it another year, and watch the desire grow even louder, unapologetic. Hendery reaches for Yukhei anywhere he can touch. Yukhei’s ex-girlfriends have never been this eager. Yukhei can still get an aching hard-on running on three hours of sleep, his clothes still smelling like the smoke at hawker stalls they’d gotten cheap noodles from. There’s satisfaction in baiting Hendery into it, and it’s easier to say how good Hendery looks shivering against his body, instead of saying  _ I love you  _ every single time they fuck. Between them, Hendery is the compliment fisher. Between them, Yukhei gets the sneaking suspicion that they think the other as less frightened of the future than themselves.

There are moments suspended in time, hanging parallel over their bodies. The world shifts, gravity pulls in its constant state and the sun comes up again bleeding through the sky. 

On a bad day, Yukhei wishes for more time. And Hendery hopes letting go, if he has to, won’t be too painful.

  
  
  
  


“Do you—” Hendery starts to ask. There’s a hollow point, an empty space. Listening to Hendery speak when something is bothering him sounds like shaking the candy tubes without the little toy inside; the subtle nervous tics come out, rattle the air. Sometimes Yukhei pretends not to notice because it’s easier. 

He’ll try today anyway. “What?”

“Do you ever think about leaving here?”

“All the time,” Yukhei answers. He’s surprised at how clipped his tone is. He knows where this conversation might go, chasing ideas they've gone over before and there's been plenty of time spent doing that lately now that university is over.

They both don’t know how to not give themselves away, their faces are practically open books. Hendery glances at him and says nothing. Doesn't pull away when Yukhei presses himself up next to him among the crowd of pedestrians waiting at the crossing.

Yukhei will sit on that one hours later, staring at the stained ceiling with his earphones in and a song on repeat to mask the distant clattering he hears from his neighbours, tinkling of glass and silverware bouncing off. The rhythmic thuds later on keep him from sleeping and he wants to throw something against the wall. Funny how hearing other people having sex means he’ll text an apology—spill of words that come out messy when he hits send. 

Hendery shows up anyway as usual, and they walk by the empty basketball court on an early Thursday morning.

“I’m sorry,” Yukhei says in person. Meaning  _ I’m sorry, I didn’t think I’d fall in love with you. _

The idea is an abstract, no specifics. Permanence sounds just as scary as everything temporary, and there's always a reluctance to giving yourself to someone that means you having to change in some way. Eating thick toast sticky with peanut butter and sweet  _ kaya  _ over Teresa Teng singing from the radio in the food stall signals falling back into their routine in the morning. It should have been perfect if they were younger, when they’d have more time to spend making promises that disappeared with the storms.

Summer and the monsoon season just ended. They wear parkas made for rain anyway.

  
  
  


The idea of love was supposed to be like the fireworks each turn of a new year over Victoria Harbour with ocean salt stinging your nose. Loud, dizzying and so bright that everyone else would see right through you and ask  _ who’s the lucky girl?  _

Yukhei snaps out of it when the old auntie picking up his empty bowl asks him this just to tease him for daydreaming, chin in his hand and upturned at the news on the television in the restaurant. She doesn’t wait to hear for his answer, wandering off with the dishes after his watery sheepish smile. 

"And what if I'd been a girl?" Hendery asked before, the wind almost carrying away the words at the rooftop of this high-rise, cloudless soft blue above.

Yukhei wonders how something can be so loud, he can almost scream it and not have a single sound leave his mouth. It’s a contradiction right down to the extremities. He wonders if it’s normal to question if he’ll be able to get over it if he loses this. Wonders if it’s normal to think that he will definitely lose this.

_ Could you tell me again,  _ Hendery murmurs, breath quivering against Yukhei’s wrist when he cups Hendery’s cheek.

“Stay here,” Yukhei says. 

So it starts, and in a way, it marks an end somewhere.

  
  
  


“I didn’t believe you wanted me like that,” Hendery explains, looking at Yukhei like he’s really seeing him for the first time. Yukhei still sees the same wide eyes and toothy grin despite the button-down shirts and loosened ties after work. Yukhei likes being given this benefit of the doubt; a few years later means they change, drift apart, drift back together like tectonic plates and let themselves make new inside jokes because one of them doesn't remember all the old ones anymore.

“Is it hard to believe now?” Yukhei asks, something of a challenge in his voice. 

Hendery isn't drunk yet, but the to-do list written five years ago is faded by now, the paper ringed brown thanks to a can of Coke spilling over it. His alcohol tolerance two-thirds into a can of beer is still shoddy as ever. He’s a heated pink, his smile is too big for his face. Don't get Hendery drunk, or else you'll fall in even more and find out how big love can get, even if it might not last.

“Stay,” Hendery murmurs. “Stay while you can.”  _ I don’t know how I’m going to let you go. In the meantime, in the meantime, in the meantime.  _ Hendery repeats this like a broken record, hands reaching before Yukhei kisses him hard.

Give it a minute where you realise you could gladly die like this holding everything you still want. Give it an hour where the sky lightens into a pale milk blue, embers of the sun chasing away the last of the night and making the neon signs disappear. 

  
  
  
  


  
  


**Author's Note:**

> re-edited this a few months after the publish date and after giving some time to mull over it as i was writing extra scenes, the edit being that i switched the name to hendery instead of kunhang. overall i don't think it's such a big deal since it doesnt go against the convention of english names being commonly used in the setting anyway. but in case anyone who does reread this actually takes notice and gets thrown off, sorry! i did it to match my preference of what name to use as i was writing the [hendery pov](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25586455/) to this and just wasn't comfortable with writing the name kunhang anymore. 
> 
> comments are appreciated! i'm quite curious to hear what anyone thinks of this
> 
> twitter and cc: @fractalkiss


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